His Most Evil Plan
by l'Ciel
Summary: The search for the Horcruxes has begun… and quite successfully. But can you always just be lucky? Features darkish Harry and some very interesting surprises and revelations.


1**His Most Evil Plan**

Author: l'Ciel

Disclaimer: JKR, and some companies like WB, Bloomsbury, etc

Fandom: Harry Potter

Rating: I'd say PG-13, there's some violence and psycho stuff, no _romance_ though (yet…)

Genre: Adventure/General

Main Characters: Harry, Ron and Hermione, the Order and Voldemort

Summary: The search for the Horcruxes has begun… and quite successfully. But can you always just _be lucky_? Features darkish Harry. Too OOC? Be patient!

AN: I decided to post this as one long "chapter". It's simply easier for me. The story, or at least this part of it, is finished. I will not say more now as not to reveal the end, but I will consider writing a sequel. I just need to find the right inspirations. Review are of course always appreciated as well as justified criticism.

I hope you will enjoy it.

**Back**

(October 1997)

The rain was pouring over the slippery road on which they stumbled toward the castle. The lights behind the windows far uphill flickered merrily behind the glass, but outside the storm had been raging non-stop for hours. Three hooded figures fought against the weather as they approached the iron gates. Two of them were supporting the third, who was limping along. Lightning crashed down from the clouded skies above and for a millisecond the winged boar's tusks were gleaming dangerously on their pillars as the little group slumped down in the lee of the gate. A girl with wet tangled hair had pushed down her hood and rose her wand. Her shivering lips were glued together while she flicked her hand and a bluish white bird shot from the tip of her wand towards the castle. While she had sent for help the other boy had laid the limping one down on his cloak. Not risking a longer glance at his hurt companion he fumbled in his pocket and produced a small golden vial. Tugging at the stopper with his teeth he used his free hand to force his friend's mouth open and with a desperate prayer on his lips drowned it down the uncooperative throat. Wiping his forehead, wet from sweat and rain, he looked up into the girl's fearful eyes.

"He will make it," he tried to reassure her. "He's lucky now."

"Oh – right. Good idea!" She smiled, but what little hope his words might have risen, thin wheezing and then a painful whimper increased her worries tenfold. Since they had Disapparated (escaped) from the forest he had been unconscious, but it seemed he was awake now.

"Harry," she whispered, "can you hear me?"

A raspy cry was Harry's only answer as the gate swung open behind them and four people in cloaks hurried over to them. There was McGonagall, her tartan hat askew, lit wand in hand; Slughorn, thinner than they had ever seen him, face red and eyebrows knitted together, gazing down the path for potential dangers; tiny Professor Flitwick was sticking his nose up from under a fluffy magnificent scarf (that was much too… vast for him); and towering above them was the gamekeeper, shaggy beard and hair glittering with raindrops.

"For Merlin's sake, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley… Rubeus, if you would be so kind?" She pointed over to the figure curled up on the ground, quite obviously in pain.

"Sure, Professor. 'D never let 'Arry 'ere down!" He boomed seriously and gently picked the writhing boy up. McGonagall nodded briskly and laid a soothing hand upon Hermione's shoulder, guiding her back to the castle, followed by the others.

Once inside, they evaded the Great Hall where everybody was just having dinner, and made their hurried way straight up the marble stairs, round the bend, up another staircase (that had instantly moved to allow their passing) and down the corridor to the double doors. Hagrid didn't bother to knock, but simply ran through the doors. This caused an indignant yell from Madam Pomfrey, who came out of her office, clad in a stained apron. The fumes from behind indicated that she was brewing a potion.

"…too busy to even attend the celebrations, now that Severus is gone…" They heard her mutter on her way to the next bed, where Hagrid set Harry down.

Slughorn had just stopped rummaging through the infirmary potion stores and had returned with two identical vials. Giving them to Ron and Hermione he rolled his eyes somewhat sadly at Ron's suspicious face.

"Draught of Peace," he informed, "You look like you need some."

Hermione thanked him faintly and downed her potion. Since she seemed alright Ron did so, too. Relaxing noticeably, they turned their attention back to Harry.

"Dementors. We were taken by surprise," Ron said meekly, shaking his head. "It all happened so fast."

"If Harry had not stalled them for us to Apparate out, we'd all be-"

"Demented," Ron finished for her with a shudder, warily clutching his robe pocket.

The nurse nodded absentmindedly while she got rid of the cloaks wrapped around her patient. Levitating his now-still form inches over the mattress, she used a sharp little knife to cut the clothes off his body. The onlookers hissed at the dreadful injures that were revealed part by part. Somewhere during the healing process Pomfrey ordered Slughorn to bring her a potion or two; wound cleaning potion, Murtlap Essence, blood-replenishing potion and several deflating drafts, not to forget a powerful sleeping potion.

Since Madam Pomfrey was busy, Hermione, who needed something to do to stay calm despite the calming draught she had taken earlier, had taken over to finish the boil cure in the antechamber. After some arguing, Ron had followed to help her. The hospital wing had cleared up quickly after that with the matron ushering everybody out save for Hagrid, who burst into tears when she addressed him. Too distracted by her patient, she had simply banned him into a corner where he seemed to be content enough.

Back to her patient:

After cutting off his robes, shirt and removing his boots, she had immediately started to heal the most life threatening injures; including the right lung which was about to collapse, internal bleeding and a crack in the skull. Second priority became the huge rip in the right leg that went from the knee up to his buttock and was bleeding profusely, and a completely squashed and shattered arm. Shaking her head, she rose her wand and, closing her eyes in defeat for a second, brought it down near the shoulder, neatly dissecting the useless limb. I would have to grow back. Breathing deeply to regain control of her emotions, she fixed the stump and moved on to the many smaller cuts and welts all over her patients body.

Finishing on the last lacerations, she injected another fluid against internal scarring and cleaned all the remaining cuts and sutures. Bandaging the larger cuts tightly, especially the stump that had remained on his right arm, she allowed herself to relax a little.

She knew, tonight she had saved a very precious life.

Outside Headmistress McGonagall was pacing the corridor when the nurse stuck her head out and allowed entry to the waiting people. During the long hours which had passed much quicker behind the walls of the infirmary, the headmistress had returned to the Great Hall to inform the student body that everything was alright. Taking certain students aside she had informed them of the late eve's occurrences and now they were waiting just as anxiously.

Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood, who had been quietly leaning against the nearest wall, had shot up and entered the ward even before McGonagall; Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan trudged along warily.

On the first bed to the left, plain white sheets tucked up to his chin, lay Harry Potter, face pale and hair plastered to his clammy skin, but back and alive. Everybody in the Order, Gryffindor House and especially the Weasleys and Grangers had been worried sick when the Golden Trio had disappeared four days ago from Hogwarts. All left of them were three neatly written (or in Ron and Harry's case as neatly as possible) letters asking their parents and friends not to search for them, because they were operating undercover.

Now the Golden trio was back; two in bad mental shape and one near death. Being truthful to herself, Minerva felt like crying. Ever since her old friend and mentor was gone she had given her best – everybody had given their best – but it was never enough. Voldemort was gaining power even at a steeper pace than before and wizards and witches from the Light side were dying every day. The numbers of emigrants was growing rapidly.

Shaking her head again, as she did so often lately, she went over to stand by her charge's bed (she still considered him one of her Gryffindors). Pomfrey came back from cleaning up herself and motioned to McGonagall to sit with her, explaining the injuries. Minerva shuddered when they reached the topic of prosthetic arms, but the veteran school nurse remained completely professional.

After an exhausting night, everyone was ushered into their beds.

**Figuring it out**

Everything was dark. Now and then voices would float over him, their words intangible and far away whispers, pooling away like waves on the beach. At least he had always imagined waves to sound that way.

the rock in the ocean in PS/SS and the cliffs in HBP don't count – there's no beach!

**/flashback/**

After thorough planning in the first weeks of the holidays and extensive research, especially by Hermione, they had left their families and friends to fulfil a dangerous quest: the search and destruction of the Horcruxes. Their main (and only) clue had been the initials on the locket: R.A.B. And for quite some time they had found nothing, until Harry had left the Dursleys at his seventeenth birthday and Lupin brought him to Grimmauld Place. Then, one evening as he passed the drawing room on his way back to his room, he saw it. On a shelf, still irremovable and covered with dust: a locket.

It was gleaming darkly in the flickering light of the chandelier, almost sinisterly. Depositing of the book in his arms that he had taken from the library earlier, he neared the shelf and carefully tried to pick the locket up. With a slight tingle of magic on his fingertips he could actually remove it from the shelf. Suspiciously, he turned it in his fingers and wiped off some of the worst grime. A dark smile graced his lips, as he remembered the initials on the piece of paper in the locket that he was still wearing:

R.A.B.

Black!

Looking at the old family tree tapestry across the room he quickly ruled out the generations before 1800, since they could not have lived that long. He could also discount Sirius, Narcissa, Bellatrix, Andromeda, Sirius' grandfather, because he had died before the locket could have been made, and also his uncle.

Looking for Blacks with the right initials proved quite easy: there was only Regulus Black, Sirius' little brother, who had "gotten in too deep" and then wanted out, being caught by Voldemort within six days. Unlikely! But then there were enough burnt spots in the tapestry of "unworthy" family members, and somebody going against Voldemort would certainly qualify.

Harry remembered Sirius talking about some "Uncle Alphard," who had left him some money. Pushing the locket into his pocket, he raced up the stairs toward Hermione's room. Two years ago she had shared it with Ginny, but the Weasleys had spent the summer at the Burrow, flooing over now and then. Hermione had looked up from her book when he had slumped down on the bed beside her, showing her the locket.

"It was there all the time, can you believe it?" He burst and she blinked once, before reaching for the dirty piece of jewellery.

"Oh holy Jesus! Harry, we have it!" And she hugged him, before jumping up and down through the room.

"I thought that uncle Sirius mentioned might have left it here. You know, Uncle Alphard," he supplied and she calmed down somewhat.

"Yes, I suppose that's a possibility," she agreed after some seconds. "I'll research his background at once!"

And forty-eight hours later they (Ron included, who had come over from the Burrow for the weekend) were brooding over some "light reading" in the Black library. So far they had found out that "Uncle Alphard" was actually Alphard Nautilus Black, the burnt spot beside Sirius' father and the father of Narcissa, Bellatrix and Andromeda. He had been an Unspeakable before the first rise of Voldemort and later a freelancer in the same business. Whether or not he had been involved with Voldemort at that time remained unclear from the records, but he had died in St. Mungos after a nasty encounter with an unknown person.

Since it was impossible to search for more Horcruxes during the holiday, especially without a lead, they had spent the rest of the summer researching ways to destroy the one they had. They had decided against telling the Order. Snape might not have been the only spy Voldemort had planted. Hence it was not until the second last day before term started that they finally managed to crack the wards and protections of the object. Since there were no records on countercurses for split souls, they circumvented the problem by using some odd device Ron nicked from his father to drain the magic from an object. Although they had had no evidence that Voldemort's soul had really left the locket, Harry could not feel anything odd about it anymore, and that had to be enough. Still, to be sure that no dark magic remained in it they had agreed to consult a professional. And a certain curse breaker was within reach.

On his brother's request Bill Weasley had run a few tests over the suspicious item and shaken his head. With wary eyes he mustered the locket and rubbed his scarred face. Giving the object a sniff he growled and sighed. A number of hexes and enchantments later he huffed.

"Completely clean," he grunted. " Where on earth did you find that thing!"

He had gazed at the trio with dark confusion and handed the object back, since there was no harmful magic on it. Barely restraining a grin they ran.

They decided to continue their research on possible Horcruxes and their hiding places. Which was not so easy since obviously there was no book on that topic (as Ron pointed out to a particularly annoyed Hermione one evening, which earned him a bruised chin). The lessons Harry had had with Professor Dumbledore turned out to be their major lead. To view those memories again Harry had ordered a pensive (which cost him quite a bit) and then placed his own memories containing those about Tom Riddle into it for the others to see. However he was careful to always put the memories back into his head lest somebody else might accidentally (or not) see them. For now they were researching: old magazines and newspapers (Luna's father had been most helpful), dusty books and old letters stored away in the Black library.

"I think I've got it!" Hermione shouted and stumbled into the kitchen. Half of the Order was gathered around the kitchen table and stared at her. "Uh… Harry, Ron?"

"We yar eetin (swallow) breakfast!" Ron complained, but she would not have it.

"Come on, it's IMPORTANT!" She emphasised and dragged them out of the kitchen and into the drawing room.

"I," she smiled broadly, "know where_ they_ (hint, hint) are!"

Ron blinked and Harry stared at her with open mouth.

"You ARE the cleverest witch!" Ron gasped as she explained her theory. So far the Horcruxes had been hidden in places Tom Riddle or Voldemort had a special relation to. The Malfoy's house, his grandfather's hut, the cave he had once visited. It seemed very likely that one was at the orphanage, then possibly the Riddle House and probably in Hogwarts itself.

After all, where better hide something even from Dumbledore than in plain sight?

The house-elf's memory of the shop clerk Tom Riddle indicated that Hufflepuff's cup was indeed one of the cursed artefacts they were searching for. In _Hogwarts, A History_ Hermione (who else?) had found some information on the cup. It appeared to have been Helga's own invention: no ordinary drinking device, but a magical sensation even by today's standards. It seemed, wherever the cup went it spread happiness and contentment. A nice invention. As Hermione told them she had asked her mother to research London orphanages of that time and what became of them. She also asked for pictures around 1940. When she saw those she could easily identify the right one. The results were astounding: from a rather gloomy place it had transformed into a colourful garden "full of astoundingly happy children with high adoption rates," at least according to the article Dr. Granger had found on the internet.

**/flashback end/**

For the last few days Harry had dropped in and out of consciousness. Five days in which Ron, Hermione, their families and McGonagall had time to pamper, argue, yell, cry, cuddle and talk. Days until one drizzly morning a weak moan from a hospital bed interrupted.

Madam Pomfrey had just fixed Ernie Macmillan's inflamed toe, when she heard the weak sounds from the person behind the screen. Bustling over to him she gave him another draft for the pain that he had to be in and notified the kitchens to send up some broth. Returning to the main ward, she carefully stroked a stray strand of greasy hair from his forehead and felt his temperature. Slightly too warm, but a light fever would do him no harm, she concluded.

Green, dazed eyes opened and blinked a few times, before gazing around. A soft sigh and he relaxed noticeably.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter," a female voice said from the side. "I trust you slept well?"

Turning his head towards the noise he nodded, but frowned at the slight pain that came from his thigh, waist, shoulder and essentially nearly his whole body.

"Wha happn?" He mumbled, trying to move as little as possible, while memories came floating back at him.

"Your friends brought you in five days ago. Ever since you have been sleeping and I dare say it was a necessary healing sleep, as most minor injuries have healed already, whereas…" She sighed and nodded towards his hurting shoulder.

Looking down himself he gulped. Where his arm should have been there was nothing. Panic gripped him as he in vain tried to move a nonexistent limb.

"A specialist is stopping by this afternoon to have a look at it – would you like a calming draught?"

Her question went unanswered as Harry's eyes rolled back in their sockets and he fainted.

As announced around three o'clock in the afternoon a thin wizard with sparse brown hair came into the hospital wing. He introduced himself as Healer Michaels from Glasgow Medical Centre for Chirurgical Magic. Shaking Harry's hand without even glancing at his forehead made him slightly more tolerable to Harry. Popped up against many pillows, Harry listened to the healer explaining several possibilities to deal with the situation at hand.

"There are different options for you to consider," Michaels clarified when Harry asked him what good his presence would bring. "I understand that you are still quite distrustful toward all this, but with modern means of medical magic, there are ways to replace a limb with prosthetics nearly as functional as a real one. That is one possibility. Another is to grow the missing body part back. That however is an extremely difficult and time-consuming procedure in difficult cases, such as yours where it is more than just a finger chopped off in the kitchen," a small grin spread on the healer's face (Harry did not think the remark was funny), "And the growing limb is often weak or partially numb before the nerve connections start to function properly."

"That does not matter, as long as it gets right again," Harry mumbled.

"Still, I would recommend a prosthetic for you. If you would just take a look?"

He opened a large case he had brought with him without seeing his customers white face.

"See this model. Oak core and joints, cherry façade. Simple, but elegant!" He handed the arm over to Harry, who gripped the construction with his right and turned it once, before handing it back shakily.

"Not this one, then? Maybe something more modern?" He threw the arm back into the case and produced another one. "My own creation! Aluminium core and joints. Very light, in several colours and hull materials available. No?"

Does this remind you of Ollivanders, too!

Harry shook his head faintly. Madam Pomfrey sighed loudly beside him and went to fetch a calming draught. A large swallow later he felt much steadier.

"I really would prefer my uh… self-grown arm, sir."

"Oh, if you think so," the healer seemed a little disappointed. "Then I'll just give you a Potion for it. Three times a day, two weeks and everything will be back in place. Any complications and the lady of the ward knows where to find me. It was a pleasure, Mr. Potter!"

The Weasleys and Hermione stopped by every day and, according to Madam Pomfrey, never left their friend the necessary calm and quiet he needed to heal. Rubeus had peeked in once or twice, too. Harry's injuries, save for the arm stump, which was still extremely sensitive, had healed and only the gash on his leg had left a noticeable scar. He felt mostly alright, except for the usual worries that plagued him since Dumbledore's death.

Back then everything had been safe to a certain extent, predictable, not his concern. He missed the old man terribly. Depression was slowly stealing its way into his heart. The optimism that had gripped him four month ago was waning with the meagre success. The world was crumbling and he knew it. The Ministry for once did everything in its power to stop things from happening and the Order was working frantically. They were unfortunately less coordinated after Dumbledore's death and had little success.

But on the whole things were working out better than he had dared to hope…

Padding over to the washroom to relieve himself he looked into the mirror above the sinks. He looked alright. Tan and healthy, if one disregarded the missing left arm and the wary look in his eyes.

When he returned to his bed three people were waiting for him: Ron, Hermione and Professor Slughorn, the new head of Slytherin. The round teacher was beaming at him and shaking his remaining hand vigorously, before sitting back down on a chair by his bedside.

"Now Harry, how is it? Still in pain? Of course it must have been a nasty shock to wake like this, wasn't it?" He sounded truly concerned.

"Well, yes. But I'm much better, thanks."

"Yes, very good, still, I took the liberty of brewing this here for you. I thought you may benefit from it–you already did back then," he handed him a small vial, filled with golden liquid.

"Oh, thanks professor. I suppose I really need it."

"Ah, yes, but remember Harry – never too much, you know the consequences," Slughorn warned lightly.

"Yes, of course, Professor. I just-"

Just then the door to the office opened and Pomfrey gave them the famous death-stare. Slughorn grinned at him again and got up, followed by a concerned-looking Hermione and a hungry-looking Ron.

"Time for dinner!" Pomfrey stated and put a tray down on his nightstand. He began to eat his curry with one hand while watching the matron scurry about the place.

Two weeks later he drowned his last potion. His arm had grown back fully in ten days, but the nerves until now had not yet connected properly, so that the limb was still somewhat numb and tingly. He turned to Madam Pomfrey, who smiled encouragingly and ran a last check over him, before officially releasing him from the hospital wing under the condition that he would not overexert himself in the next few days.

Ron and Hermione were waiting for him. Climbing the stairs to the seventh level, they waited while Ron paced the corridor for the hidden door to appear. Once inside the Room of Requirement they slouched down on the lavish couches in front of a merrily burning fireplace. The whole room radiated comfort and safety.

"So, what did I miss?" Harry tried to joke and his friends gave him a dirty look.

**Blood Magic**

"Well," Ron started the real conversation, "Our parents pretty much freaked. You know mum," he winced. "And they still expect an explanation."

"We thought it wise not to tell them anything until we'd spoken to you," Hermione intervened, "But Ron and I agree that we must tell somebody the truth. I mean, we barely made it out this time and there are still Horcruxes that need to be found and if… Well, if we don't come back nobody would know about them, right?"

The boys nodded.

"So we figured (Ron secretly rose his eyebrow at Harry with a knowing grin) that we should inform McGonagall and the heads of the Order, what seems safe enough to me, and of course Ron's parents. They have a right to know, so they won't worry… unnecessarily."

"A – yes," Harry said and Ron _cleared his throat_. (Snigger Not worry, my ass!)

"What about the Horcrux?"

"Got it… somewhere," Ron winked and placed it onto the wide armrest. All three examined the small item curiously.

"Well, time to suck it out boys!" Hermione sighed and procured the _Decruxer,_ as they had baptised the clever device. Attaching the tube to the Horcrux she tapped the gadget with her wand as suddenly green flames erupted from the golden cup.

Screaming she jumped back and cradled her singed hand against her chest. Ron had jumped up from his seat and snatched the Decruxer away from the vicious article. Harry had pulled his wand as he cautiously neared the flaming Horcrux. Ron shouted when he closed his hand over it. The flames stilled instantly. Frowning Harry knelt beside Hermione, who was sobbing now. Ron moaned while Harry forcefully pulled her injured hand open. Muttering a healing spell the blistering flesh cooled against his touch. Hermione gasped and whimpered. Her palm and the insides of the fingers were glowing red and right on the middle of her hand a black bubble was oozing fresh blood. Cursing Harry hissed another healing spell and the wound closed a bit more.

"I think you better go to Madam Pomfrey," he told her and she nodded, biting her lip. Ron helped her up and they walked over to the door, where they turned around.

"I'll take a look at this here. Can't simply leave it, can we?" He reasoned, and they nodded.

"Be careful," Ron swallowed. They left.

Carefully he touched the item with his good hand. His scar began to tingle and he let go. His gaze wandered to the _Decruxer_ that still lay on the floor beside the armrest. When he picked it up it was warm to the touch but nevertheless seemed alright. Cautiously, even more so than with the locket, he pressed the small tube against the surface of the cup. Pressing the button he begged to Merlin that it may work and with a tiny pop the device began to work. Contemplatively he eyed Hufflepuff's heirloom and warily stroked his finger over its rim. Nothing happened and even after several seconds that his finger lingered there no pain reached his scar. Frowning, but nevertheless very relieved, he made his way down to the infirmary to see if his friends were alright. The decruxed Horcrux was safely hidden in his pocket. On the stairs he ran into Luna, who waved at him but hurried on, probably towards the Ravenclaw tower. When he reached the hospital wing Madam Pomfrey awarded him with a intimidating glare and bustled on to a bed near the doors where Hermione was sitting with watery eyes. Ron awkwardly patted her shoulder.

"What did Pomfrey say?" He asked his friend. She sighed and showed him her open palm, which was covered with thick orange paste. He remembered it from the Triwizard Tournament when Cedric had been burnt by the dragon. They had no time for further conversation as Madam Pomfrey had started to bandage the injured hand. Nobody dared to interrupt her disapproving tirade. When she was finished she gave Hermione a stern look and told her to return in the morning, before the three were released.

Meanwhile the sun had sunk above the lake and so they directly went down for dinner. News of their return had spread along with countless rumours. Some said that they had completed some dangerous mission. Others insisted they had been abducted by Death Eaters and barely escaped with their lives and somebody had broadly declared his uncle's niece's second cousin had seen how the three teenagers had been questioned at the Ministry of Magic for misuse of the Dark Arts.

Harry silently doubted anyone of the students had the slightest idea how close they had been to the truth.

_/flashback/_

_(two days ago)_

"_Mr. Potter, I believe it's prudent to tell us what the hell you were up to!" The headmistress' voice had amplified over the course of the sentence. Her cheeks had reddened and her lips quivered slightly. "Have you no idea how worried we were!"_

"_Sorry."_

"_Sorry, Mr. Potter does not begin to excuse your folly! What on earth, I repeat myself, were you thinking when you left the school, three children, in the dark of night, right in the middle of this… war? Have you at all considered the risks you were facing or the grief your loss would have caused us? I believe not!"_

_She huffed and folded her arms over her chest. The tip of her foot was repeatedly tapping the floor. Harry swallowed. Fortunately he was released when McGonagall was called away by an urgent owl. Ever since, however, he had dreaded the moment when he would have to explain. Well, at least he was not alone._

_/Flashback end/_

Smaller clusters of students gaped at them as they strode by. Here and there somebody was waving at them. When they reached the Entrance Hall, a crowd of friends had formed around them and a warm feeling of elation let his worries cease.

Upon their entry all heads in the Great Hall turned to them. Even the Slytherins, those that had remained in school, regarded them with curiosity. The silence was palatable when suddenly noise broke out from the Gryffindor table and those who had not yet seen them recovered cheered loudly. From the staff table Harry could feel McGonagall's eyes on him. Several aurors and members of the Order were scattered among the tables. From Ravenclaw he saw Alastor Moody winking at him and Tonks waved cheerfully from Gryffindor. Whether or not she had been in his house Harry did not know as he took a seat next to her.

"How is it?" He asked her and she grinned.

"Well kid, seems fine. Chips?" She offered him the platter and nearly let it slip, had Ginny opposite from them not reacted in time. Tonks gave her a brazen smile and rolled her eyes.

"So, any news from the old crowd?" He pressed and she harrumphed noncommittally. Sighing lightly, he left her to her meal and let his gaze roam. No big changes since they had left a week prior. The number of students had dropped to a mere hundred after Dumbledore's death, but the tables were full anyway because of the many relatives and allies that lived at the school for their's and Hogwarts' own protection. Only the Slytherin table seemed somewhat less occupied. Nearly all of the prestigious and rich families had transferred their children to other schools or taught them at home. Some to train for Voldemort's service, some to evade the war that was taking shape over Britain.

At least, Harry thought hungrily, the meals were still excellent.

His mood changed when he, Ron and Hermione were called to McGonagall's office. Upon their entrance several faces turned: Arthur and Molly Weasley, Remus, Alastor Moody and Elphias Doge, an old wizard Harry dimly remembered seeing at headquarters some time.

Headmistress McGonagall motioned them to sit. Her stern features hardened as she began to recapitulate about their _folly_. Obviously they expected an explanation. Half-truths would not do. Clearing his throat Harry began to tell them _some_ of the information Dumbledore had shared with him last year. With growing disbelief the Order members stared at him. Moody looked even grimmer than usual and McGonagall kept shaking her head. Molly Weasley's face reddened ever so slightly and he felt truly sorry for Ron just then, but also for Hermione and himself. Well, it had to be done. Explaining why they had not told the order seemed quite useless; none of the present adults would accept their reasoning, so he brushed over that quickly. He could clearly see their disapproval. At least nobody interrupted his tale.

When he reached the point of their _little excursion_ though, the adults broke their eerie silence. Colonnades of accusations crashed down on them, such as how careless and stupid they had been. Harry was bristling by then.

So they had not yet researched every detail of soul magic. Maybe because the library was so inadequately stocked! It was not their fault that he adults were so incompetent and small-minded. Had he now found and destroyed four out of six Horcruxes or what? Horcruxes they had to hand over at the next Order meeting, which would be tomorrow! They belonged with him!

Stating his claim would be unwise just then, he reasoned, seeing the enraged faces of his _superiors._ Evidently they still wanted to treat him like a small kid. As if telling him nothing would protect him! It had taken Dumbledore long enough to grasp that! Now the whole shit was starting anew! Frustration was gnawing at him. Could he risk telling them the contents of the prophecy? Maybe the first half. Would they even believe him? Not bloody likely!

Completely pissed-off he was allowed to leave after four hours of pointless discussion. In the end they had threatened to bind him to the grounds if he did not leave the work to them (as if!) so he had simply promised them everything (as if!) to be able to leave as soon as possible. Luckily they had not _forbidden_ them to research. _That_ would have been difficult to hide!

In the end Harry had actually been quite satisfied with himself. They did not know about the blood charms, so the trio would have to approach them, _if_ they actually found something. On the other hand, the Order knew enough to aid the trio's research properly. And _hopefully_ they would be discreet about it. He certainly had pointed out often enough how vital secrecy was for the whole project! If Voldemort knew their hard work would be spoiled! And since the Snape-incident it was obvious enough that the Order might still be infiltrated by some snake. Or rat.

Hermione and Ron followed him silently when they finally left. They seemed to notice his need to be left alone and he excused himself with a slightly bad conscience. They meant well but he felt guilty nonetheless for leaving them out and not telling them about what angered him so lately. Actually, he was not even sure if he knew himself. It was just so…

When he reached the seventh floor he paced quickly before the door appeared and let him in. The Room of Requirement had wonderfully adjusted to his mood this time. It was a plain, large room with soft, cushioned walls and floor. Along one wall he saw a row of golems. When he touched one with his wand it activated and he jumped back. Well, he berated himself, what else would it do? Stupid boy! But it was just what he needed. A good way to steam off some energy. The white, faceless figure ran around the room, throwing mild stinging hexes at him. After the first one had hit him unexpectedly he swore revenge and sent a rather harsh blasting curse after the aggressive doll. The result was quite satisfying. The golem was now missing one arm and half of its chest. To Harry's dismay however it quickly reassembled. Though slightly worse for wear, it soon attacked again and he retaliated. After a good hour of duelling, he stunned the golem mid-jump and tapped it with his wand again. It immediately repaired itself and went back to its place. Pleasantly surprised, Harry left the room in high spirits.

On the stairs he shocked Mrs. Norris with a broad smirk and sauntered on towards the Gryffindor tower. Giving the Fat Lady the password (swordfish), he ignored Hermione's withering glare since he had disregarded his studies again, and went to upstairs.

In the seventh-year boy's washroom he brushed his teeth and disrobed, before ducking under the shower. From outside the cabin he heard (guessing from the heavy steps) Dean enter. A door slammed and half a minute later he shrieked as the toilet was flushed and his shower got unbearably hot for a moment. Cursing under his breath he wiped the last shampoo bubbles from his chest and dried himself off. In front of the basins he tackled the evil water-thief to the ground, but quickly found himself on the defensive. Alerted by the commotion Ron and Seamus quickly joined the battle and soon Harry was pleading them to stop. Merciless fingers from all sides took his breath as he tried to suppress a rather undignified giggle. When they released him he loudly swore revenge. Back in the dorm he pounced on Ron and another fight ensued until all boys were out of breath and the room (as usual) a total mess.

Completely overpowered, they went to bed.

**The Fifth Horcrux**

A trickle of water ran down the stony wall. The eerie green light fell from the torches high above him. Beyond the mouth of Slytherin, he carefully climbed over the bones that littered the ground. Inside the pipe only his lumos remained. The walls were slick with algae and mould. The bones under his feet cracked and splashed in the low water that covered the ground. A cold breeze hit his face as he moved on. After a few steps the ground started to rise. The walls to his sides fell away and from somewhere above a dim shimmer of light illuminated the mist around. Glancing to all sides he realized he was in a circular chamber with a high ceiling. In fact he thought it looked like a gigantic dome of dark stone. From the bottom of the chamber a spiral ramp curled around a gigantic pillar. He guessed it was nearly as wide as one of the smaller towers. The floor was drier here and fewer skeletons hid the roughly hewn stone. He had to be _inside_ the rock on which Hogwarts was built!

Scanning his surroundings he felt the magic prickle over him. It seemed the mist was soaked with it! But no dark trap snapped shut around him, so he went on. The walk up the ramp was rather exhausting and the chilly air burned his lungs. Wheezing and shaking from the cold he finally reached the top. No railing kept him from sliding off the slippery top as he took a small step towards the centre of the pillar. Another magical barrier prickled over his outstretched wand and arm, but he sensed no evil in it. Passing this one, too, he neared the shimmering block in the middle. The light that illuminated the chamber all came from it.

A dozen steps away from the sparkling… altar? Another step and he could make out a body on it. Warily he glanced around again. What was a person doing down here? Or was _it_ dead? He definitely would have preferred it that way!

Taking heart he closed the final distance and stilled right over the _thing_. _It_ seemed quite dead. Actually, it must have been, because it was a statue, irritatingly lifelike and frozen in eternal sleep; a woman, clad in lavish dress robes, surrounded by marble flowers. Her eyes were closed, hands folded. A tomb? But who would want to be buried down here? Some descendant of Slytherin maybe, but even then he would have had to be able to speak Parsel to reach this place. Searching for an inscription, he knelt by the sarcophagus. Near the head he finally found it. Artful letters engraved into the marble. Only the last line appeared, rough and scrapped in haste:

_HAC SUNT IN FOSSA MUIRNAE OSSA_

_MATER ET AMATA AMANS_

_REQUISCAT IN PACE_

MuLier infiDeLis

The light from the stone was too bright to see properly, so he tried to trace the word, but as soon as his fingertip touched a very bad feeling overcame him. His scar began to tingle instantly and stinging little jolts of magic seeped through his artificial arm. He ripped his hand away. Wide-eyed he laughed to himself. Without any clues he had stumbled upon a Horcrux. He knew it could not be anything else! The blood magic responded to him. Fortunately he had taken the decruxer with him since unpleasant questions would have been asked had the Order discovered the stolen device. Part of him reasoned that it was too dangerous to attempt a cleansing without anybody knowing where he was. If something happened to him nobody would find him. But then they would not be able to open the passage anyway. On the other hand he had to destroy the Horcrux anyway and the tomb was far too large to move. Apart from that the _owner_ might prefer her final resting place mostly untouched. Well, too late for such sentiments!

He attached the tube to the stone and tapped the switch. The decruxer began to hum and rattle and he felt the magic drain, but suddenly something seemed to block the flow. Alarmed he tapped the device again, but it was useless. It would not still until all magic was sapped!

The light around him began to waver. Too late he realized just how much magic might have been woven around the tomb. The light, preservation charms, and whatnot…

Groaning, he prayed that it would stop soon, before something exploded. No such luck. He felt the energy tingle around him. It grew stronger and stronger. The decruxer stuttered and suddenly the magic flashed back from it-

Everything was dark. A dumb throb was the first sensation that flooded his befuddled mind.. Pain sliced through his whole conscience and let him whimper softly. His voice sounded oddly hoarse and weak, distorted by the echo of the rocks. Realization followed suit. The chamber! He could not see anything, so all-consuming was the darkness. Panic rose in him as he weakly searched for his wand. Calling a faint "Lumos" he saw it glinting near the head of the tomb. Crawling toward the light he bit his teeth as his battered knees scraped over the rough ground. His back ached from where he must have hit the floor. At least his arm was still functioning. The other felt rather weak in comparison. When he reached the source of the light, he moaned. A feather was glowing beyond the stone, surrounded by splintered wood. Losing his wand was really the last thing he needed. Especially _this_ wand!

Frustrated and dismayed, he gathered the fractured remains and stuffed them into his pocket. Cautiously touching the tomb, he assured himself that the evil spirit was indeed gone. There was no point in searching for the parts of the decruxer; it could not have survived the blast of unleashed magic. Angry he carefully searched his way back down the ramp. But as soon as he reached the bottom of the chamber he was lost. On his way inside he had not bothered to keep in mind in which direction the exit was. After all it had been so _obvious_!

Cursing under his breath he tried to subdue the panic and forced himself to remember. Not much came forth from the depth of his memory, but he thought he had walked straight to the pillar and then turned left to reach the ramp – or was it right?

Uncertain, he decided to walk straight towards the walls of the chamber and then follow the wall. He desperately hoped the chamber only had one entrance…

After thirty steps straight he reached the wall. Turning right he soon encountered an archway. Hoping it was the right one (please, please, please) he continued to follow the walls. He had walked about ten minutes when the floor got wetter and wetter. The cold crept into his bones and his teeth rattled. Desperate to see the light again, the pretty, wonderful sunlight, he scrambled on until he reached a dead end. Muttering "open" in Parsel he waited for the mouth to open – and thank Merlin – it did. Green light from the ever-burning torches made him blink. New faith gripped him and despite his weak limbs and tearing aches he increased his speed as he strode through the Chamber of Secrets toward the exit.

The rope he had conjured (since Fawkes would not rescue him this time) was still dangling through the pipe and he sighed in relief; it had not dissolved when his wand shattered. Gripping the rough lead, he slowly left Hogwarts' murky underworld behind.

His _good_ arm was shaking with exhaustion when he finally pulled himself over the rim of the pipe into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Dropping to the ground he whispered a last command to close the secret entrance, before he succumbed to fatigue.

He was found just that way by Filch hours later. The teachers, primarily the ones in the Order, and his friends had started to miss his presence and began to search the castle. Everyone was very relived, but also quite angry when he finally was found.

"Sleeping in a girl's bathroom, what on earth were you thinking, Mr. Potter? And you completely missed our appointment!" McGonagall lectured.

He knew she did not mean any harm, maybe even worried about him personally, but he could not muster the will to care. She could not possibly understand. And, when he was truthful to himself, he did not trust her. Or anybody else for that matter. It was not safe. He had learned that the hard way last year. So when he told her he had hidden the Horcruxes, because he did not trust the Order, she raged on him about what a fool he was and how egoistical and dangerous his _little_ _games_ were. When she threatened him with Veritaserum, he told her in no uncertain terms that she was overstepping her boundaries as headmistress and that he had no other obligations toward her at all. She promised him that she was not yet through with him and he left without her consent. He knew she would not expel him; it was no direct infraction of the school rules, and she would condemn him to death if she threw him out. No, she would not dare.

After he had blown some steam in the Room of Requirement he went down to the library to research the name on the tomb. He suspected it was somehow related to Slytherin or Hogwarts, and soon he was successful: _The Founder's Deceit_ told him just what he was searching for.

_Salazar Slytherin's adulterant wife, Muirna McGonagall, had birthed two sons: Melas and Phoibos, the bastard. Obviously only Melas carried on the family line to Marah Slytherin, who married her cousin Cassus Gaunt in the late 15th century after the great Goblin war of 1487. The name of Slytherin died out without any male heir left. _

_Muirna had spent the rest of her life with Godric Gryffindor. When he died she went with him. The night after their burial however her whole tomb had disappeared. Legend said that her abandoned husband had destroyed her earthly remains in anger. Apparently the legend was not quite accurate. Slytherin had not been seen again after her death._

Harry slammed the book shut and absentmindedly stared out of the window. The Whomping Willow was losing her last brown leaves in the cold October breeze. Tomorrow it was the 31st. Halloween. The day so many decision had been felled in his life. Never his decision.

**Halloween**

A pleasant tune was floating through the open doors of the Great Hall as they descended the stairs to the entrance. Hermione smiled. Her hair was done up in artful curls, and black mascara and whatnot pronounced her beautiful eyes nicely. She must have outgrown her gown from fourth year. Today she wore a long lacy black tube with thin straps. She looked very grown-up. The twins apparently had kept their promise and bought their younger brother some dress-robes. The modern cut and dark navy suited him much better than the maroon _dress_. As for Harry himself…

He grinned as he remembered his mirror image. His hair had grown out some, and since it was heavier it stuck up less. A bit of Sleekeasy's Hair Potion and it looked fine. Ron had remarked it reminded him of the ferret, but really, he looked much better. On his trip to Diagon Alley that summer he had purchased a stunning set of black silk robes. The cut was classical and rather unspectacular, but Madam Malkins had assured him he looked fabulous and he agreed. Quite handsome, really.

Huge black candelabras had replaced the usual floating candles. The house-banners vanished overnight and instead tapestries with seasonal scenes had appeared. Like in their fourth year small tables lined the walls, so there was room to dance in the middle. Some of the older couples were already chatting and dancing enthusiastically, while the younger students awkwardly lingered in the shadows. With a smirk he bowed to Ginny, who blushed and let him lead her to the dance floor. He enjoyed himself tremendously. Especially since he could actually dance this time around, and with a girl he really liked. Her green gown felt smooth against his hand. Some of her long red tresses tickled his fingers. Her eyes shone and he suddenly regretted their split-up. She meant so much to him.

A slower melody began to play and he excused himself. The room had begun to get unbearably crowded and he longed for fresh air. Sauntering down the hall he passed the doors and entered the courtyard near the greenhouses. A moan behind the courtyard made him still and when hushed babbling followed he grinned and carefully peeked over the bushes. Immediately he turned away with disgust; Parkinson's and Smith's ugly faces would haunt him forever!

Finally he had reached the vegetable patch. In the darkness he could make out the hills. Nobody ever came here. The ground was stony, the slopes steep, and loose pebbles made the ascend dangerous. A mile further into the barely-passable ground and he knew his godfather had hidden almost three years ago. But what mattered these teary memories now? Nothing. And there was no point in reminiscing now. He had a task to do, no time for daydreaming! Where the knowledge had come from he did not know, he just knew that he had to be here this night. Here, nowhere inside the blackness between the hills.

Absentmindedly he scratched his arm and climbed on. Too late he realised that he could have brought his Firebolt. Numbly he laid back on top of that hill and stared into the night sky. Clouds hid most of the stars that night, only here and there one could make out a constellation or two. Eltanin was twinkling dimly until a cloud passed over it. He would have to wait till December to see Sirius again.

The slight noise of rolling gravel alerted him. Alerted, he looked around.

Only an animal.

Tiredly, he got up to return to the castle, when he heard the noise again. Pulling his wand he crept along the shadows of the hill, when he saw something gleaming in the dark.

A shoe?

Suddenly the wind was knocked out of him and he sagged forward. A pair of long arms caught him before he touched the ground. Pale fingers set his paralysed body against the rock and the hooded man sat across from him.

"You are a reckless fool, Potter," the voice he would have recognized anywhere. Nobody could copy the trademark snarl. Snape. The bastard actually dared to come close to Hogwarts again. The conscienceless traitor! He grimaced, but no words would come from his throat. Snape remained completely unfazed by his struggle. Surprisingly he just sighed and waited for him to calm. Since he had no alternatives Harry decided to listen. Snape seemed to recognize his reluctant acceptance.

"I have little time, Potter, so you will have to listen closely, for I will not repeat myself. The Dark Lord is planning something and it involves you. I am not privy to details other than a Potion is to be involved, that I am to assist him with in the brewing process. So far I believe only his most trusted are aware that something is about to happen at all. I would recommend you stay close to an Order member, or better, a few at all times; no leaving the castle unobserved. Whatever stunt you pulled in London – yes, I know you where there – don't repeat such actions, or you might find yourself in a fatal situation sooner than necessary. Is that understood?"

Harry realized he could move his head again and nodded slightly. Snape seemed satisfied.

Bastard.

"Should I find out more details I will let you know. But for now, constant vigilance, or whatever that auror always tells you. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, sir," Harry swallowed. Why should he even listen to the git. What did it matter?

"Good, expect to hear from me sooner or later. That is, if you survive long enough," Snape turned away and Harry felt the spell wane. "And Potter, you better forget about this little talk, we would not want any expendable casualties, yes?"

With a pop he Disapparated.

Highly disturbed, Harry jogged back to the castle grounds. He had not even realized that the wards ended at the foot of the hills. Were they not supposed to last up to the border of the school grounds? Exhausted and confused, he hastened to Gryffindor tower. He really was in no mood for celebrating anyway. But he had a very important letter to write to Lupin. He did not trust the Order with sensitive information anymore, but just in case somebody should know about their quest.

But as he neared the castle a feeling of dread overcame him. A cold feeling spread in his chest and for a moment he willed it away, but soon enough it became too strong to ignore. Fog had risen from the grounds and the temperature suddenly dropped. From far away he heard the cries of hundred voices merging in his head. Then he saw them. Dark and evil, floating over the grounds – everywhere. Panicking, he stepped backwards. He needed to run, get into the castle quickly to warn the others…

But his legs felt like ice while the screaming grew louder and louder. This was not his mother begging for his life–no, these screams were beyond terrified… but…

Blackness enfolded around him and he thought the blood in his veins would freeze. The edges of his vision blurred as something moved close by…

**The Ritual**

"You," the boy spat and struggled against the restrains which had immediately been laid once the portkey had released him on top of the altar. More words he could not bring forth, because just in that moment a full body-bind hit him from behind. So much for idle chitchat.

"Harry Potter, we meet again," Lord Voldemort's voice cut through the silence.

The boy struggled, but there was no escape.

A wave and his trusted servant obediently walked over to a longer table of various utensils. An iron cauldron was placed near the altar, so that the boy would see everything, and the base potion poured inside.

"Pleasant memories, Harry?" The servant wheezed and drew a thin dagger from his sleeve.

The boy glared at the rat and he chuckled inwardly. Such spirit.

"Let me explain this evening's procedures to you", he smiled. "We–that is, you and I–are here to clean up this mess about my Horcruxes. (the boy's eyes bulged slightly) Yes, yes, I know you have been," he smiled, "Trying to destroy them. But Harry, I must reprimand you; a boy and a mudblood are hardly the most reliable source when it comes to soul-magic, and Hogwarts has near to no practical information about these arts. The Black library was probably more informative, but did you really expect to succeed where even Dumbledore failed?"

Still glaring defiantly.

"Did you really expect you could _decrux_ my Horcruxes with a little Ministry device? Really, I had hoped you were more sensible!"

The glare was faltering.

"I must admit, you did destroy my diary. Basilisk-poison is a very dangerous substance. It is especially useful to destroy magical binds. But then, I was still a schoolboy when I created my first Horcrux and I was hardly as proficient in protecting my possessions as I am now."

A rather desperate look.

"The ring is unfortunately lost. The old coot truly managed to destroy a part of me – at the cost of his life. You see, my trusted servant only sped the inevitable up. My magic was eating him up from the inside. When the darkness reaches the heart or brain the victim dies anyway."

Was that a tear?

"The cup I re-charmed so that you would be able to break its blood-wards. When I decided to use the tomb I was the only parselmouth in Europe, it seemed safe enough. A lucky circumstance, as it turned out, didn't it, Harry? The only true quandary was the locket, when on my trip to re-charm it I discovered, that a traitor had taken it. But it seems luck was on my side again and Regulus Black had already dismantled the worst wards."

He heard Pettigrew shift.

"And so we find ourselves here, at the end – or should I say, the beginning?"

He felt the boy shiver under his gaze. Soon Harry Potter would never shiver again…

"Wormtail, bring the armadillo bile," he instructed. "And now jobberknoll beaks, hellebore sirup–stir that!" Wormtail stirred the potion while he took some of his own and Harry's previously collected blood. The boy – obviously – could not fight back.

"Don't worry, Harry. It's going to hurt, but it is not the end. Remember that, will you?" He caressed the boy's head and saw the contempt in his eyes.

He added their blood to the cauldron. The murky orange changed into a brilliant blue. Only one last ingredient left. He took the salt and drew a circle around them. Wormtail had dutifully stepped back and was now cowering on the ground outside the wards.

"Leave us now, my servant."

Wormtail Disapparated.

Everything was going to plan.

Soon, soon it would be over… A new life could begin!

In a wave of nostalgia he picked up Ravenclaw's mirror and gazed inside. The withered grimace of an old man looked back at him with bloodshot eyes. Yes, it was time. They were alone.

"Do you know what this is, Harry? The last Horcrux, yes, but more. It is the Mirror of Ytilaer: it will show you the truth, what resides inside of you. It is said that nothing requires more courage than to face yourself. Would you like to take a look?" He smiled benignly and stood next to the boy's head.

"When I found this mirror I knew I could not return. But then I met you and everything changed. I realised that I could start anew. You have to see, Harry, that the chance that another person can absorb part of your soul without losing sanity is unbelievably rare. But you could, Harry. When you became the Boy-Who-Lived it was proven. And when I met you after my resurrection I knew it was true. We are alike Harry, in more ways that I ever thought possible for two living beings to be. And that makes you so very special. You have the _ability_ to vanquish me, but I shall dictate the rules. A pity the prophecy was lost… Alas, it hardly matters anymore. I never liked the idea of fate. Do you, Harry? But here, see yourself!"

Voldemort saw the boy's eyes widen. He could taste his soundless scream as the boy saw the truth, saw _him_. Of six remaining parts four were already bound to his oblivious mind. Lowly he began to chant, holding the mirror steady, so that it was constantly directed at the boy. He felt the magic shift and release his soul, saw the boy struggling as the mirror image changed with it. But nothing could stop the process anymore. With the sunrise a new, better form of humanity would rise from the ashes. Phoenix and serpent joined for eternity, one body, one soul!

When the process was completed he laid the hollow artefact aside and fetched a vial from the table. Pouring some of the steaming potion inside he took the carafe of simple water and returned to Harry's side.

"Did the teachers at primary school also tell you, that all life emerged from the water? Water… the true elixir of life. Cheers, my dear boy, to a greater existence!" He cracked a hollow laughter and drowned the potion. It immediately burned through his insides. Choking, he doubled over on the altar. In the corner of the eye he saw Snape apparating nearby. What was the fool doing? The howling in his ears swelled to an excruciating volume and from somewhere he felt it, before he lost consciousness.

/POV CHANGE/

He stared at the spectacle in horror, when Lord Voldemort's body combusted in black flames. The wards fell around him. The salt was blown away in the unrestrained storm and the table with the ingredients was thrown over. Eerie green light flashed forth from the altar, then the magic collapsed. It started to rain as he stumbled forwards. Fishing for his wand he spoke a quick _lumos _to find the altar in the complete darkness. In the dim wand-light he grabbed the still form of the boy and, anxious to leave immediately, side-along apparated him to a safe location. Unsure on how to proceed he brought the boy inside and placed him on the couch. Thinking, he picked him up again and carried him upstairs into the bedroom. His clothes were drenched, so he got rid of them and tucked him in. Two or three warming-charms did the rest. Completely worn-out, he sank down beside the boy and fell asleep.

The End

…for now


End file.
